Time Turned
by Rheniel
Summary: A single moment of distraction in third year means Harry doesn't notice the time turner - until he jumps and manages to spin it. He's sent back to his eleven-year old self, and doesn't remember... or does he?
1. What was that?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Especially not the beginning bit, that's directly quoted.

A/N: This idea has been stuck in my head, preventing me from writing anything else. So, I finally gave in and wrote it. I'll be the first to admit, it's a bit freakish. And it's unlikely I'll do more unless reviewers like it. There are a /lot/ of directions this story might go, and I'm not really certain which it'll be, yet.

Chapter 1

Just one moment of inattention.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on. Dumbledore had turned on his heel and looked back as he reached the door.

"I am going to lock you in. It is ---" he consulted his watch, "five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck."

"Good luck?" Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. "Three truns? What's he talking about? What are we supposed to do?"

But Hermione was fumbling with the neck of her robes, pulling from benath them a very long, very find gold chain.

"Harry, come here," she said urgently. "Quick!"

Harry moved toward her, completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out. A small noise distracted him, and he looked away for just a moment.

"Here ---"

Hermione had thrown the chain around his neck, too.

"Ready?" she asked breathlessly.

"What are we doing" Harry said, still looking about, and not yet paying attention to Hermione.

In answer, she reached for a small device attached to the chain, and turned it. Harry saw only the flash of light at the edge of his vision, instinctively flinching away. As he moved, the fine chain strained for an instant, and the hourglass-shaped device slipped from Hermione's fingers, flipping up and over the chain, spinning wildly. The two teens looke towards each other fearfully. For just a moment, Harry's uncertain eyes locked with Hermione's resigned gaze, and then the chain snapped, Harry falling backwards with the chain still wrapped about his neck. As Harry's confused gaze ficked from the falling hourglass to the expression of surprise and horror on Hermione's face, blackness clouded his vision, and he knew no more.

A gasping breath and a pair of flailing arms pierced the darkness. The sensation of falling was stopped abruptly as hands slammed against the hard wood of the old, bleak end table. Harry Potter woke with a gasp from the odd dream to find himself on a cold, damp stone floor, no longer laying on the moth-eaten blankets he'd fallen asleep upon. It had been one of those sorts of dreams where you feel yourself falling, though it seemed a bit more frightening than the average dream of that kind. That could easily be explained by the current situation, however. After all, anyone might have odd and frightening dreams if they found themselves in a rickety old building on a small storm-beaten rock halfway out to sea. Which, as it happens, was Harry's current location.

It might have been almost exciting, were he alone. Had he been alone, he might've had more blankets to himself, and perhaps even been warm. Cold as he was, it was rather odd that he'd fallen asleep, especially as he always stayed up for his birthday. Glancing at his cousin's watch, which was conveniently placed on the end-table he'd found so abruptly, Harry realized he still had that chance. It was just twenty minutes to midnight. Something about his cousin bothered him, though. It was almost as though some part of his mind were telling him to 'get him now, while you have the chance'. Harry shook himself, thinking the stress of the last few days must really be getting to him.

Wrapping the pathetic excuse for a blanket around himself, Harry wandered to the dirty window. He rubbed a patch clean from the pane of glass, staring out towards the waves. The storm was terrible. The little boat they'd taken was being tossed about, coming perilously close to being smashed against the rocks. If the boat was smashed... Harry shuddered. Not only would they be stuck here, but the noise would likely wake his uncle. And if Uncle Vernon found him awake, the accident would be blamed on Harry. Lightning flashed, and Harry saw the boat lift, then the thunder crashed, and it sounded as though the boat had broken as well.

A moment passed, and then another flash came. No, the boat was there. Quite safe, still. But what if it had broken? The last time something had been blamed on Harry, he'd been almost glad of being locked in the cupboard for a week, so bad were the bruises and welts. No, he had to go get the boat, bring it in, put it where it wouldn't be harmed. Worried but determined, Harry gathered the blanket around him, and approached the door.

Quick as he could, Harry slipped the door open just wide enough to squeeze out, and pulled it shut behind him. He paused a second, his ear to the door, doing his best to listen over the roar of the storm. The reassuring sounds of his Uncle's and Cousin's snores met his ears, even over the rushing rain and wind. Breathing a sigh of relief, then shivering from the rain already soaking the blanket and his clothes, he made his way down the uneven path to the boat. As he picked his way downward, he spared a moment to be amused that he found a freezing, storm-ridden attempt to save a wretched little boat, infinitely preferable to the company of his relatives.

Honestly, if it weren't currently storming like none other, he'd be more than tempted to simply run away. Boat away, rather. He could hop in, paddle to the shore, and be miles away before they even knew he was gone. Harry smiled at that, it would be nice to be free of them. Free of the chores, free of the punishments, free of the ridicule. He shook his head, muttering to himself about the unlikeliness of such a thing, and foucused his attention on scaling the boulder in front of him. The boat was tied to a post that stuck out of the top of it. Were it dry, it would be reasonably easy to walk up to the top, but in the storm, Harry found himself scrambling with hands and feet on the moss-and-water slickened rock.

After a few moments of scrambling, he got to the top. Harry crouched carefully on top of the rock, grabbing the rope from around the post that was affixed there. Fortunately, the rock was still high enough above the crashing waves to keep him from being washed out to sea. Unfortunately, it wasn't so far as to keep him from the spray. Not that it mattered much, by that point; he was already thoroughly soaked through.

Finally getting the boat untied, he began pulling the freezing rope through his hands. Trying to keep his mind from the cold and the wet, he forced himself to think of somewhere warm and dry. An image of his relatives' house came to mind, but he flinched away from thinking of the cupboard as 'home', or even as warm and dry. Snorting at his inability to find a place he'd rather be, considering he was in the middle of a storm, Harry started listing off places in his head, everything from the grocery store to Vernon's car.

Carefully, he scrambled down the rock, rope in hand. He pulled tightly on the rope, waiting for a swell to bring the boat within reach, rather than jumping down the four-foot dropoff to the beach and chancing getting washed away. He amused himself by picturing the Dursleys' car, comfortably settled on the shore of this horrid lake. A huge swell finally came, and Harry pulled hard, bringing the boat quickly to where he stood, the water reaching nearly two feet up the short wall. He reached down, grabbing for the edge of the decently large rowboat, getting soaked again from the spray. He settled on the image of the Dursleys' car, to keep his mind off things. It was, after all, the most recent warm, dry place he'd been. /warm car, warm car/ he thought to himself /very warm, very dry, car; comfortable and safely away from here/. He gripped the edge of the boat, and prepared to heave the largish thing up to where he was.

Suddenly, a shout from behind caused him to start, thinking his Uncle had caught him. " 'Arry? What're ye -" A deep, booming voice called, stopping because of the scene before him. For Harry, startled by the voice, had flinched. Slipping on the slick, cold stone, he pitching headfirst off the rocks on which he'd been perched. He barely had time to register what was happening; in fact, he was still partly focused on his mental image of the Dursleys' car.

Which is why he was certian he was dead when he found himself seated in said car, moth-eaten blanket and all, just as he'd been imagining; warm and dry. Used to at least a certain number of odd occuences in his presence, for a moment he merely blinked. After that, he contemplated being afraid, but decided that either he'd hit his head and was dreaming (in which case he may as well explore, and wouldn't it be cool if he could control the dream?), or else a miracle had occured, and he was every bit as here as he'd been on the roof of the school last year (in which case, he'd finally managed to escape the Dursleys', and... surely he'd manage to get his letter, this time! All he had to do was manage to keep away from his Uncle until tomorrow's post, and he could find out what was inside of that envelope.

So, he decided, it was best to assume that this was, in fact, real; a miracle, perhaps, but real. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to get out of here before his relatives found him. But then again... it was warm here, in the car. Warm and dry. And not only were the Dursleys probably still asleep, but they were certainly unaware of his current location. Even if they discovered him missing, the storm would keep them on the island. No-one would travel in weather like this in that boat... the boat! The Dursleys couldn't come! When Harry'd been startled, he was quite sure he'd let go of the rope, and the boat was as likely to be on the far shore as it was to be anywhere near the island. Although, there was the owner of that voice to consider. Whomever had startled him might have fetched the boat tether before it was too late.

Still, there was little chance of finding any Dursleys in the car before late morning. Which meant that he could sleep here; dry, safe, and reasonably warm. They might catch him for it (and then he'd really get it; he'd likely still be bruised and starved when school started), but it was worth the risk. As far as they were from civilization, he'd have to walk miles in the dark and freezing rain just to catch a train out of here; and it's not like he had money for a train, even at that. Harry shrugged, sent up a quick prayer that he not awaken to find this a dream (or to find his relatives returning to their car), and, curling up on the rear seat, fell asleep.

The sunlight fell warm on his face in the early morning hours, bringing Harry from the most pleasant slumber he could remember. Blinking his eyes open, Harry sat up and stretched. The storm was over, the sun was shining, he was still in the car (so it had been quite real), and, best of all, there were no Dursleys in sight. Harry couldn't imagine anything better. /Now to get out of here/ Harry thought, dumping off the blanket and unlocking the doors. Stepping out of the car, Harry shut the door, and turned. Then he stopped, for a moment. Why should he let the Dursleys know he'd been there? And if they didn't know he'd been there... Harry grinned slyly. Normally, he was entirely opposed to stealing. But as he crawled back in the car and retrieved his Uncles' emergency fourty pounds (taped to the bottom of the drivers' seat, intended to pay towing fees and whatnot) he decided that, just this once, it wouldn't be so terrible. He'd been accused of stealing far more so many times, that just this once it'd be nice to deserve the punishment that would be coming. If they even noticed.

As he climbed back out of the car, Harry grabbed his moth-eaten blanket, checking to make sure he'd left nothing behind. It wouldn't do to give them reason to think he'd been there. Before he shut the back door, he locked it. When the Dursleys finally made it back to the car, they'd find it just as they'd left it; tidy, empty, and, most importantly, locked.

Feeling rich, optimistic, and hungry, Harry set off in the direction of the train station. If he remembered correctly, it was about ten miles back up the road from the seaside. By his best guess, it was around six or seven in the morning. He couldn't imagine the trip taking more than three hours or so, which meant that if he hurried, he might just get the chance to do a little exploring before... Hmm, before what? It wasn't as though the Dursleys would be overjoyed to find him waiting for them at Privet drive, and he certainly couldn't come back here. Ought he really run away, then?

Harry paused. Of course, he'd thought about running away several times, but one thing always held him back. How would he pay for anything? Granted, the Dursleys had never given him much, but there'd always been a roof over his head and clothes on his back, however begrudgingly given. Perhaps he could feign memory loss, and wander into a police station? But no, his relatives had often told him what orphanages were like; there was no sense in escaping the Dursleys if he was only going to find himself worse off. Better not to worry about it, just now. He'd explore, wait for his letter, and then he would figure it out.

Looking over his shoulder, Harry found that his musings had carried him out of sight of the car, and breathed a sigh of relief. He truly was glad to be away, at least for the time. He settled comfortably into the steady rythm of a long walk, allowing himself to enjoy the scenery as he watched the sun rise higher. As he walked, a feeling of unease grew. Something nagged at his thoughts, and he wondered if it was really such a good idea to travel alongside the road. If the strange man last night had alerted his relatives, they might well be back to the car at any time. Shrugging, he turned away from the road a bit, walking a few feet inside the edge of the treeline. It slowed him down a touch, but he could keep the road in sight, and still have a good chance of hiding if he heard the car coming. Not feeling any need to rush, Harry wove comfortably through the trees.

He kept the even pace, thinking about everything and nothing, moving on through the rest of the morning. Several times he heard cars on the fairly quiet, empty road, and ducked down low, staying still until they passed. Once he even thought he spotted his Uncles' car, though it was moving too fast to be certain. Around midday, he reached the outskirts of the town. Picking up the pace, now that he felt reasonably safe from being caught (there were a great number of people, and he doubted someone could pick him out from among them) Harry began to explore. Lunch seemed the logical first stop.

He chose carefully, wanting a treat yet not wanting to spend too much. In the end, he found himself tucked into a booth at a comfortable but modest family restraunt, munching his way through soup and a sandwich. Deciding that just a bit more wouldn't hurt anything, he picked up the dessert menu from the side of the table, and began eagarly flicking through. Better still, when he asked the waitress to bring the cheapest dessert, she smiled at him, winked, and said, "It's on the house. So, now, what would you /really/ like to have?" A minute later, she returned with a double serving of chocolate cake with rasberry sauce, crowned by a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Feeling quite full and comfortable, Harry settled the bill and left. He was near enough to the train station to see it, but wanted to wait for that letter first. Perhaps it was a long-lost relative, wanting to claim him; that would settle everything. Harry decided to be careful with his money, he wanted to have enough to take the train straight there, if that turned out to be the case. So, turning away from the train station for the time being, Harry decided to explore the town.

He was staring at a window display of televisions when it happened. An owl, somewhat like the ones from Privet drive, settled down on his shoulder out of nowhere, and held out one leg. The only real difference between this owl and the others he'd seen was in its appearence; this one looked as though it had flown right through the middle of the storm, and it probably had. Harry reached up tenatively, having no desire to be bitten, and carefully took the envelope. Cream colored parchment, addressed to him. The address ended in "Hut on the Rock". Which was a tad odd, as he hadn't been there since last night. Turning the envelope over, Harry discovered another odd thing. Instead of the seal, he found another envelope, stuck to the first. This envelope was not addressed to him, but was messily addressed to an "Albus Dumbledore". "This one's not for me" Harry told the owl. But the owl simply shook its' head, hooted, and took off. Shrugging, Harry tucked the wrongly deposited letter into his jeans-pocket. He was far more interested in the letter that was for him. Grinning, he oh-so-carefully slit the envelope, trying not to damage the wax seal too badly.

What he found inside shocked him. Wizard? Him? Was this a joke? But then, if it were a joke, surely it wouldn't have frightened his Uncle so much. His Uncle. He knew. Always calling him "freak", he'd always known. So it was real then. Magic. The things he did, the freakish things, that sometimes even scared /him/, they were magic. But then, if there were more of him, a whole school for people just like him, surely he wasn't so odd as all that. Harry grinned. Here was the answer. He wouldn't need to go back to the Dursleys, he'd be in school. He looked to the second page, to the school supplies. And then it hit him.

Money again. School cost money. Especially a boarding school. That had to cost thousands. He doubted the remainder of the stolen note would buy him a tenth of his school list, let alone pay tuition for a year. And there was no way the Dursleys would pay for it. Surely, though, they'd known that; known he had no way to pay. In which case, it would have made far more sense for them to give him the letter, declare it proof that he was really a freak, and then told him there was no way they'd pay for it, and laughed at him for it. It was... their way. To get his hopes up, then dash them and laugh at it. Yet they hadn't.

Which, to Harry, meant there might just be a way. A way his Aunt and Uncle knew. And since he couldn't ask them, he'd do the next best thing, and read that other letter. If nothing else, it was meant for another wizard, and that person just might have the answers. Promising himself he'd apologize to the letters' real addressee for nosing through their mail, Harry opened the other envelope. Out fell a golden key, and a piece of paper.

Wondering at the key, and feeling more than a bit guilty, now, for opening the letter, he stuffed everything back in the envelope without reading the contents. He needed more information, sure, but he'd just had a better idea than poking through old mail. He was in a town, and on his own. He had all the time he needed, at least for now, and there had to be a library somewhere. Maybe they wouldn't have a book on wizards, but it was worth a look, at least. With a new sense of purpose, Harry began searching the streets. It took almost no time at all to find the library.

It was a huge building, obviously having been enlarged and added on to several times. The part that looked like the original building was made from natural-looking stone, the next section of roughly-hewn stone, and the rest was of grey or reddish brick of varying age. He walked through the glass doors of the entryway that was fairly modern, and found himself inside a rather cozy reception area. The lone librarian at the desk looked up from her book as he entered. "Anything I can help you find, dear?" she asked.

Suddenly Harry felt very foolish. /He/ may have just discovered that magic was real, but that didn't mean /she/ wouldn't think he was crazy. Or, worse still, point him to the fiction section. Clearing his throat, he tried "Uh, " ahem "I was, ah, looking for some books on, er, on magic, that is - on ... real, er..." oh, of course, he knew how to ask this! Starting again, Harry said "I need some books on magic and the occult for a school report."

The librarian looked at him, calculatingly. "To your right, near the old section of the library." she said, simply, and then seemed to be waiting for him to ask something.

"Er, thank you" Harry said, unnerved by her stare.

The middle-aged woman looked startled a moment, then smiled at him mysteriously "You might find some really interesting ones in the old section itself. But you may not remove those books from that part of the library. They are reference books; not for checking out, or for reading elsewhere in the library. Also, stay out of the blue section. You'll know which one it is, and I'll know if you go in there."

Harry thanked the woman again, and walked towards the back of the library. As he neared the back corner, a whole extra section of library came into view. Harry was quite sure that he should have been able to see the section from the front, but it had a ... /shimmering/ quality that suggested it wasn't meant to be visible to everyone. He could almost see the wall, adorned with paintings, that non-wizards would see. Harry grinned. /That's/ what had been going on, up at the front desk. No doubt, if one weren't a wizard, this part of the library would be invisible, both from the inside and the outside. So when she gave him directions, she was trying to determine if he'd seen the old annex. This library had a /very real/ section on magic, and she'd been trying to determine if he was magical or not.

Considering the precautions the library had obviously taken, Harry took a good look around before slipping throug the "wall". It wouldn't do for someone to notice him walking through walls, after all. Somehow, though, he felt they'd likely taken care of that, with magic, as well. On the other side of the wall was a main study area, squarish in design with a monstrous fireplace opposite. It was more than big enough for a grown man to stand in. Oddly, considering it was mid summer, a decent sized fire was blazing in the grate. To the right and left were isles of bookshelves, long clear isles that ended in a windowed wall to the left and a blueish haze to the right. The blue was obviously the area he was to avoid. In the central area, where he stood, were several study tables.

All in all, it was overwhelming. True, he'd be able to find everything he needed to know in this place, but where on earth would he begin? He was still staring dazedly towards the shelves when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, and met the dark brown eyes of a girl about his age.

"It is a bit overwhelming at first." She said, smiling at him, and he shook himself out of his little daze to smile sheepishly back at her. "Yeah, more than a bit." Harry responded, feeling he should say something else, but still not knowing where to start.

Fortunately, the girl understood "Did you just get your letter?" she asked, motioning to the Hogwarts letter that was now peeking out of his shirt pocket.

Harry started. Obviously, she had to be a wizard (or would that be wizardess? or witch?) as well, or she wouldn't be here. He knew that, but it was still odd to meet someone like himself. "Yeah, I mean, yes, I did... today, just now, a few minutes ago..." he realized he was rambling, but she only smiled.

"Oooh! So you're muggle-born, too?" she asked, then, without giving him time to answer "Has your family not had the visit from the committe of muggle-wizard relations yet, then?"

"The, er, what?"

"That must mean no. Soon, likely tonight, a group of officials from this committe will come and talk with your folks and explain all about the wizarding world. Oh! And, er, muggles are people that can't do magic."

Harry couldn't imagine anyone calmly sitting the Dursleys down to talk about magic. And even if they did, he wouldn't be there to hear it. "I doubt my Aunt and Uncle would listen to them." Harry said, darkly.

"Of course they will, I'm sure they'll understand eventually. My parents thought it was a joke, at first, themselves. And, sorry to pry, but why did you say Aunt and Uncle? What about your parents?"

Harry bit back a groan. Boy, she was talkative. Well, best to go with a half-truth, and see if she could tell him anything. "My parents, well, they died when I was very young. My relatives raised me, and they didn't appreciate my being a wizard. They, well, they sort of don't approve. Actually, they don't approve at all. I'm... on my own, from here."

She looked shocked, and then she spluttered for a minute. "But that's terrible! Whyever would they-" she paused, and collected herself. "Is there anything I could do?" she asked.

Harry smiled at her. "Well, actually, if you could tell me a little about, well, about wizards, and magic, and everything. I mean, this" he waved the letter of acceptance "isn't exactly a thorough explanation."

She grinned back. "That, I can do. I just learned this all myself, you know, not too very long ago. I only just got my letter this summer, but I discovered magic about two years ago, when I stumbled into this section of the library." she blushed "I've always spent a lot of time here. I'd be more than glad to help you..." she paused, waiting for his name.

"Harry Potter" Harry replied, holding out a hand to shake.

The girl turned white as a sheet. "H-h-h-har-ry P-p-potter? Did you say /Harry Potter/?" she whispered.

"Ah, well, yes. Yes, I did." Harry responded. "And you are?"

She shook her head as if to clear it "Hermione. Hermione Granger." She replied, sinking into a chair. "This is going to take a /lot/ of explaining."

Four hours later, Harry was still stuck on one key fact. "I'm famous." he repeated, again.

They'd shared their entire life histories, witholding nothing; both felt as though they'd know the other for /years/. Only by now, Hermione was exasperated with his obsession on this particular topic. "Yes, we've been through that. There's a lot more to cover, though. Like where you're going to stay tonight."

That got Harry's attention. It was hard to go from "boy-who-lived-under-the-stairs" to "boy-who-lived", but Hermione was quite right about the practical considerations. "Any suggestions?" he asked.

"My aunt runs a bed-and-breakfast just down the street. My parents are out of town for the week, and I'm staying in a room there. I bet she'd let you stay as well." Hermione offered.

"Uh, and how do we explain that I've no guardian in sight?" Harry wondered.

"Simple" Hermione grinned. "C'mon" and with that, she hoisted her bookbag over her shoulder, grabbed Harry's hand, and dragged him towards the front of the library again. The librarian smiled at them as they passed, waving to Harry. Just past the desk, Hermione made a sharp right, and then a left, bringing them to a halt in an out-of-the-way cubby with two payphones in it. Hermione winked at Harry mischieviously, and waved her wand, saying /vocus/.

Harry looked shocked "I thought we couldn't do spells out of school...

Hermione grinned, and then explained. Except that when she spoke, her voice came out sounding much older, and much different, than the one Harry'd heard before "That doesn't count until we actually start school. For now, as long as there aren't any muggles about, we can do a few spells for practice. Now, watch"

Hermione picked up the reciever, and dialed. Harry couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but was amazed as he listened to Hermione talk. She explained that her "son" was on his way to visit his grandmother, and would be stopping in town for the evening, as she didn't want him traveling through the night. After a bit more talking, she booked reservations for him, mentioning that he would have the money on him to pay. Shortly after, she hung up.

/finite incantatem/ he heard her whisper, and then she grinned at him. "Done" she said.

"Wow. That was... " Harry grinned back, but then his face fell "I don't know if I have enough"

"Don't worry. She has lots of vacancies, and I managed to talk her down to twenty pounds for the night."

"Hermione. Great as that is, I've only thirty-eight left."

Hermione grinned at him "Don't worry so much. If you'd managed to get past the "famous" part, you would know by now that you're the richest wizard in Britan to go along with it."

Harry goggled at her "... I'm rich?"

Hermione groaned. "Oh, no, here we go again."

Harry laughed, "Nah. But, if I /am/ rich, I'm /so/ treating you to dinner."

And that is exactly what he did.

Had anyone known enough to question it, they would have wondered why two eleven year olds were acting so very mature for their age. Or perhaps, why two people who were all but strangers behaved like old friends. And anyone who knew Hermione would have been positively amazed to discover she had broken a rule, let alone lie, as she had to her Aunt in making the reservation.

If I get ten reviews, I'll continue this. Otherwise, back to my other stories!


	2. Trading Fame

Chapter Two

Trading in Fame

(from Hermione's perspective)

Hermione Granger was the happiest she could ever remember being.

As it turned out, Hermione's Aunt took quite a liking to Harry. It had been an oddly good coincidence when they'd arrived to the inn just past dinner.

Hermione had immediately set off to introduce Harry to her Aunt.

Hermione's Aunt, Elisa, had been in the midst of washing up the dinner dishes when they'd found her. Hermione introduced her Aunt, moving over to lend a hand with the dishes, and started to chatter about Harry (obviously only about things that would fit with their deception). Used to the demands of the Dursleys, Harry had automatically grabbed a drying towel and pitched in. Elisa had been startled a moment, and told Harry he certainly didn't need to help. With a charming grin, Harry'd said it was no problem, and simply asked where the glasses went. An inns' worth of clean dishes later, Elisa was nearly ready to adopt him.

In the process of all this, Harry and herself had managed to carefully weave a story about his life that was at least half-true, and gained her sympathy. Apparently, or so the two youths said, Harry's parents could not afford to send him to a good school. Harry's grandmother was somewhat ill, and was old enough that she needed some help around the house. In exchange for Harry's help, his grandmother had agreed to take care of his schooling expenses, but it had been left to Harry to get to her home near London on his own. The teens told Elisa that Harry was due there in time for the start of school, but that it would take him nearly that long to walk, and he hadn't enough money for a train. Elisa immediately offered him free room and meals for help with the dishes. Even further, if he wished to stay on for the next four weeks, and do a few odd jobs, she would pay him a small stipend, and buy his ticket to London herself.

Which meant that if he stayed, he'd get to where he needed to go in plenty of time, and by train. Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was going to Wizarding School, he had a nice, Dursley-free place to stay for the next four weeks, and he had cash in his pocket that had no purpose other than his own entertainment. Plenty of cash. Now all he had to do was learn a bit more about wizards. Harry felt he'd lost out on an entire lifetime of knowledge that most of the students, brought up as wizards, would surely carry with them into school.

Hermione agreed with him, and they determined that, together, they'd learn as much as they could before they got there. Which meant, first of all, getting school supplies.

Hermione's parents hadn't yet taken her to Diagon Alley, but she'd been there twice already without them. The first time, the witch who worked at the library had taken her. It had been necessary, when Hermione'd first stumbled upon the wizarding section, to prove that she wasn't going crazy.

The library-witch had flooed them both to the Ministry of Magic sub-offices in Diagon Alley, where things had been sorted out. The ministry office-wizard had given them an appointment card, and they'd spent the intervening half-hour on a quick tour (which, of course, culminated in a visit to Flourish and Blotts). Upon returning to the Ministry office, it had been decided that Hermione would not be obliviated, and would be given access to the wizarding books at the library, provided she keep entirely secret her status as a witch. They had, however, forbidden her from using the library floo, at least until she turned eleven. Hermione was also given instructions to drop back by the office when she turned eleven, to arrange for someone to explain things to her parents.

The day after Hermione turned eleven was her second visit. She'd gotten money from her grandparents for her birthday, and known exactly where she'd spend it. She'd asked the library-witch to go with her again, and it had taken very little persuasion for the woman to agree to an outing. The first stop had been Gringotts, to change money, then Olivander's. Finding a wand had been quick and painless; when Olivander brought the boxes out, Hermione had /known/ which one was right, and plucked a box from halfway down the stack. She'd waved the wand, glowing nearly as much as the silver sparks that she made, and paid the old shopkeeper, barely even noticing.

Less than five minutes later, they were on their way to Flourish and Blotts, where Hermione had gotten a whole stack of books, on everything from "101 Useful Household Charms" to "Be the Better Student: a Student's Guide to High Achievement".

The trip had, of course, included their second visit to the ministry.

The receptionist had given Hermione a form to fill out, and then informed her that a team would be by her parents' house that evening to introduce them to the wizarding world. With a bit of a conspiritorial grin, she had also told Hermione that, for the rest of the summer, she was allowed to experiment with any bits of first-year magic she would like to attempt, provided she did so in private. Hermione was also warned that this would be the only time she would be allowed to use magic outside of school until she completed her education. The receptionist had then winked at her, and showed her a neat color-change charm that was easy to manage, that Hermione might like to try for her parents.

Hermione, of course, had gotten it on her first try.

By the end of that afternoon, she'd tried it on everything from her fingernails to a glass of water. The librarian had found it quite amusing. So much so, in fact, that she taught Hermione a charm to make things flash in different colors. It was a bit more complicated, and Hermione had been unable to quite manage it. The effect she did get, however (a gradual change from one color to another) was equally satisfying.

That, however, was months ago. Today was /Harry's/ eleventh birthday, and Hermione intended for Harry to have /his/ wand and supplies, as well. Harry, on the other hand, felt more than awkward about going into a world where he would be hero-worshipped. Especially with the way he looked, in his cousins' beat-up castoffs. But Hermione was not to be deterred.

Making sparing use of Harry's cash, Hermione bought him some well-fitting jeans and a tee-shirt at a second-hand store, along with a plain cap to cover his hair and scar. She repaired his glasses with a tap of her wand, and declared him disguised. After all, no one in the wizarding world would actually know what he /looked/ like, aside from the scar.

* * *

(Harry's VP)

Harry wasn't worried, not really. Hermione's explanation of Floo powder was careful and precise, as was her wont. By the time they reached the Library, Harry was quite confident that he could manage it. At least now he knew why the fireplace at the library, the one in the wizarding book section, had been so large. Throwing the powder into the flames, Harry shouted his destination clearly. He began to spin around, slowly at first, then faster and faster, seeing glimpses of living rooms and streets and countless other places. He was feeling entirely nauseous, and so closed his eyes.

Suddenly, Harry wasn't seeing anything at all. And then, he was seeing flashing fireplaces again, except that he knew there was something different, he knew he hadn't opened his eyes. Like it was a movie, playing in his mind, or as though he were caught in a dream. He saw himself flying out of a fireplace, then looking around in a dark, somewhat eerie room.

He stood, looking about, the dimly lit room appearing to him as though through cracked glasses, and the floor seemed further away than last he'd seen. He had the sensation that what he was seeing wasn't really there, that it was a dream, or a vision, or a memory. He was moving, and acting, but he had no control over what he was doing. He saw himself running to hide from something, and started getting worried.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it ended, and he saw the flickering grates again, slowing in their spinning.

He came to a stop at a cheery looking side-street, seemingly made up of fireplaces on opposite-facing walls. He stepped away, and looked around him. On the opposite wall, men, women, and children were queing up to use the fireplaces, presumably to leave. Flashes of greenish light to his right and left signaled the arrival of other witches and wizards.

To the right, at the end of the street, were small, odd-looking fireplaces situated halfway up the wall. There were benches in front of them, and one man was kneeling on one of these with his head in the flames. It had to be the oddest thing Harry had ever seen. He was just about to ask someone about it, when someone spoke from behind him.

"They're for talking through. If you put just your head in, then that's all that gets sent to the other side - and you can converse with whomever's at the other end." Of course, it was Hermione. For a moment, Harry stopped to wonder at how well Hermione retained information, even about mundane things.

However, it was only for a moment; they had much to do. The sooner they got done and got out of here, the less of a chance Harry had of being discovered for who he was.

With a determined air, they set off down the street side-by-side. Their first stop was Gringott's. The goblins refused to take him to his vault without his key, but were perfectly happy to give Harry a magical sort of student credit card, which would work only on supplies that were school-related. The goblin explained that they could not purchase any unnecessarily gaudy supplies, or any games or quidditch supplies. They would, however, be able to purchase things that were not specifically on the list; anything that was academic in nature would be accepted. Harry and Hermione grinned at each other; they might just empty the bookstore.

Dashing back out of the bank, card in hand, the two fairly flew to the bookstore. Harry, however, put out a hand, and stopped Hermione before either of them went in. He realized the foolishness of such a decision. If they went there first, they would never manage to leave. He literally had to drag Hermione away, her gaze still focused on the window-display of Flourish and Blotts. They were nearly halfway down the street before she grudgingly turned to follow him towards the Apothecary.

They made short work of grabbing the necessary ingredients, the scales, and the cauldrons. The checkout was simple; everything they purchased was exactly as was requested on their lists. Then it was Hermione dragging Harry along the street; excited as he was at the prospect of a new wardrobe, Harry was afraid he would be discovered. He doubted they'd let him try on new clothes with his disguise in place.

Hermione's strength of will won out again, and Harry shortly found himself standing on a stool beside another boy, who was also being measured for robes. Harry'd never been fitted for anything before, and was feeling somewhat unnerved. Contrary to Harry's somewhat timid bearing in the awkward situation, the other boy stood as though he'd done this a thousand times. Come to that, the other boy stood as though he owned the store.

Harry returned his attention to the seamswitch as she clucked her tongue at his appearance. "Take off the hat, young man."

Harry shot a panicked look in Hermione's direction, but she was off glancing through the racks of robes. He flinched, but did as she asked. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice anything off, and simply took the hat and proceeded to measure him. The boy beside Harry, however, was a different story.

A soft gasp alerted Harry to the fact that he'd been recognized. "Aren't you-"

Harry looked up quickly, and shot the boy a pleading look. The boy clamped his mouth shut, eyes slightly wide, and seemed to consider for a moment. Visibly gaining control of himself, he nodded. Harry relaxed.

The boy got a plotting look in his eye "My parents are off gathering my school supplies for me, would you like to go for an ice cream after this" the boy asked. He looked pointedly at Harry, and flicked his eyes in the direction of Harry's scar, before focusing on him once more.

Harry understood, the boy was demanding to speak to him in exchange for silence about Harry's identity. Harry once again sought Hermione with his eyes, but she had moved off even further in the store.

Misinterpreting Harry's glance, the boy amended "Your friend may come, as well."

Harry simply nodded.

The boy grinned. "The name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He said, offering Harry his hand. Draco smirked, knowing full well the awkward situation he'd placed Harry in.

"I'm James" Harry responded, using his middle name, with a slight smile at the other boy's antics. He reached out, and grasped Draco's hand.

Draco gave Harry a surprised, appraising glance, as though he hadn't thought Harry capable of the small deception. Harry had replied smoothly, having expected the necessity of an alias, and Draco had obviously expected him to at least stutter. Draco smiled, slyly.

They shook hands.

Harry felt a sense of satisfaction at having surprised the boy, but there was something else as well. The odd, familiar sensation Harry felt around Hermione was present again, though it was slightly different. It confused Harry, but, considering the surprises of the last few days, he supposed it might just be "magic". Perhaps, it was telling him that this boy could be as good a friend to him as Hermione seemed to be. Harry hoped so.

"That's you done, dear"

Hermione, by this time, came over. Harry was aware that she hadn't gotten robes on her first trip, and motioned her in the direction of the stool. Hermione frowned.

"I haven't the money on me, for this. And, while I didn't mind you buying the potions supplies, I won't have you buying my robes as well."

Harry snorted. "Hermione, just get the robes. It's not like I'll notice the difference, and you'll save yourself a trip."

Hermione grinned "You really think we won't be back before the end of summer?"

By this time, Draco was done as well. "Har- er, James." Hermione looked at him sharply, and Draco cleared his throat at the slip up, before continuing. "The ice cream, then?" and then added, so that only Harry could hear "And you might want to put that hat back on."

"Ice cream, Harry?" Hermione questioned, curious as to what was going on.

"Yes." Harry stated firmly, answering both questions.

* * *

Five minutes later found the three youths seated around a table, picking over menus to decide on ice-creams. Harry caught Draco looking at him for the third time, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Draco looked back, apprehensively "Why did you fake your death?" he finally blurted out.

Harry was shocked, to say the least "Death? What do you mean? I didn't fake my death!"

"But it's been all over the papers. How you lived with these horrid muggles, who didn't want you getting your letter, and how they kept you locked up and treated you horribly all your life. How they dumped you on some rock in the middle of an ocean during a storm, just to keep you from it, and how you tragically flung yourself off it just to be rid of them, before getting the chance to discover who you really were."

Harry could only laugh. "That story's a bit embellished. Not that it wouldn't have been worth it, but I didn't die, nor did I know anyone thought I was dead."

Harry then told his story, from the moment he'd seen the boat bashing against the little island, up to the present, Draco hanging on his every word.

"I guess that's it. I'd still be stuck in that town, though, if it weren't for Hermione." Harry glanced affectionately at his friend.

A strange look came over Draco's face. "Harry. I – look, this is going to sound weird, and I suppose it's a bit personal, but – do you hate the muggles, for what they did?"

"_The_ muggles? Those particular ones, I suppose, though hate might be a bit strong for it. All muggles? No."

"Why not?" Draco asked.

"Well, because… they're human, too. You know? Just like us. I can't blame all of them for what one did. And… I know plenty of them who are nice enough."

Draco was silent, contemplative. His gaze went unfocused for a moment. Then, he seemed to come to a decision, and stood. "I have to go, now, my parents will be looking for me soon. But… I'd like to meet you again. Tomorrow, perhaps? I could floo to wherever you are, my parents won't mind, I'll just tell them I'm visiting a friend."

Harry stood as well, considering Draco a moment; that same odd feeling was there, as though trying to tell him something. "That sounds good. I'll be working in the morning, though. How about in the evening? The floo address is 'Hopkins Memorial Library'."

"At six, then? And Harry – look, I know you don't know me, but, trust me. Just wait, at least until after we talk tomorrow, to tell anyone you're not dead." Draco asked.

They shook on it, and Draco left down the street. Harry plopped back into his seat, and looked at Hermione. "There's far more going on there than he let on."

"I just hope he explains more, tomorrow." Hermione said.

Harry sighed. "I hope so too, Hermione." He reached in his pocket, and grabbed a tips' worth of coins. "Let's get going, we still have to get to Olivander's before we go to Flourish and Blott's"

"Harry, are you sure that's a good idea?" Hermione asked. "He said not to let on who you are, and I'm inclined to trust him. The bookstore, I think we can get away with; it should be busy enough this time of year. But in Olivader's, you have to be measured for you wand… it's too much risk."

Harry grinned "You just want to go to the bookstore."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, but then grinned sheepishly "Maybe."

"We'll have to come back anyways, for your robes." Harry returned, laughing. He stood, and offered Hermione his hand. "Shall we?"

"We shall" Hermione said, and they set off down the street.

Not two shops away, however, Harry paused. "I wonder if that would count as "practical" he said.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"That, the book-bag" Harry responded "It's charmed, with six "separate" compartments for books. Look, there're six flaps on the top, and under each one is a different inside to the bag." Harry attempted to explain it.

"I don't know, but I'd imagine that would count for practical. That's an awfully efficient organizing system." Then she spotted the price tag. "Oh. Perhaps not. No harm in asking, though."

A sales clerk appeared, as though summoned by their questions regarding the expensive purchase. "Something I can help you with, today?" she asked.

"Yes." Harry said. "I was interested in this bag. But I have a student card, that will only let me make practical purchases. Would this be allowed, do you know?"

The clerk frowned. "I don't know, let me go ask, I'll be right back."

She returned a minute later, smiling brightly. "If you get two of them, and promise me your parents won't be making you bring them back, my manager says he'll get it through. Normally, though, he says it's not allowed."

Harry got the feeling that whatever the manager intended to do to "get it through" wasn't entirely above-board. It was not, however, to his advantage to question the girl or her boss, so he kept his mouth shut, and nodded.

"Would you like any additional charms on them?" The sales girl asked. "We can put those on the student card, as well."

"Er," Harry responded "What else can be done to them?"

"Well, first, you can pick a color." She pulled out a huge chart, of colors, fabrics, and stitching styles. "Any of these here come standard, and these here are rip-proof. Then there're charms for weightlessness, for keeping anyone out without a password, for keeping ink from spilling, no matter how it's placed in the bag. You can also have your name embroidered, or have one or more of the compartments enlarged."

The sales girl continued for ages, going on and on about features. Half an hour later, Harry and Hermione emerged with two bags with a reasonable number of charms on them. They weren't weightless, as that was far too expensive, but they were charmed to weigh about a tenth the contents' weight. One compartment was expanded to about six feet by four feet by three feet high, large enough for a person lying down, or for whatever equipment they could possibly need to carry.

The bags were resistant to almost any spell, were unbreakable, and were password-protected. Harry had chosen a bag in black, and Hermione in charcoal grey, as those were the only colors either liked that wouldn't be partial to a particular house. The compartments were each lined with a different color, as to better tell them apart in a quick glance.

All in all, they were happy with their purchases, but both felt a bit guilty at the amount of money they'd spent. They shared a sheepish grin, and made for Flourish and Blott's, silently agreeing to be more reasonable in their book purchases than they'd originally intended.

Unfortunately, both realized, they now had the perfect means to carry home more books than they otherwise would have. They laughed at each other as they approached the counter, tottering piles of books in hand. The purchase was far from reasonable. They each filled four compartments in their bags, and found themselves quite glad for the weight-reducing charm, as they meandered back in the direction of the floo fireplaces.

A quick, disorienting travel-by-fire later, they landed back in the library. They exited, and found themselves outside on the sort of end-of-summer evening that fills you with energy, and hope for the future. Grinning, they took off, racing for the inn, reveling in the feeling of youth and friendship.


	3. Draco

A/N: The ever so long awaited...

Chapter 3

Waiting for Draco the next day, nestled in comfortable couches near the library fire, Harry gave in to curiosity and opened the mysterious letter-that-wasn't-his. The one carried to him in the park, with his Hogwarts letter. Only to discover that the letter was his, after all. Or, more accurately, about him.

It was quite a surprise to discover, instead of personal correspondence unrelated to Harry, a letter full of tear-stained scratchings, depicting one of Hogwarts' employees and his attempts at meeting with Harry Potter. It detailed the tragic demise of the boy hero of the wizarding world, in terms that agreed with what Draco said the Newspapers had printed. Only this story was far more tragic, because the teller felt responsible.

Harry found it odd to hear of his night-time attempt at rescuing the boat second-hand. The event, while it had lead to many interesting things, had been rather unspectacular in itself. At least until he fell. It had been startling, yesterday, to discover the effect Harry's little slip on the rocks'd had on the Wizarding World. Hearing about his own "demise" from someone who felt personally connected was downright shocking. Harry uncomfortably showed the letter to Hermione.

"Hermione, would you take a look at this for a second?"

"Hmmm?" Hermione responded, her nose buried in a book. She shook herself, "What? Oh! I thought you weren't going to open that. You really shouldn't have, you know, as it wasn't… oh, never mind. Here, hand it to me."

It only took a few moments before she responded. "Nothing we really didn't know, I guess. I mean, you knew he came after you, saw you fall. We now know why everyone thinks you're dead, though; he must have told them. No answers there on why Draco says you shouldn't tell anyone."

"He'd better get here soon, then." Harry responded.

With perfect timing, the flames in the huge fireplace flared up, then flared green. With practiced grace, Draco emerged from the fireplace. No clumsy stumbling was evident. Until, that is, he'd taken two steps into the room and had a look around. At which time his composure faltered, he shot Harry a pleading look, and he promptly passed out.

It was fortunate that the carpet was soft, and that nothing with a sharp corner resided in the space where the boy fell. Harry and Hermione were both far too stunned to even move in his direction before his head touched plush rug. Their momentary freeze ended then, however, and they were at the boys' side in the blink of an eye. Hermione had her wand out and began checking for curses immediately; Harry was checking the other boy for more physical damage.

What they found astounded them. The only physical marks were bruises, but there were many of those. Magically, they discovered the remnants of several curses, as well as a series of healing spells. Hermione found, in the process of searching for whatever caused him to faint, a tracking spell. It required both of them to break it; it was strong, but it wasn't particularly complicated. Shortly after, Hermione discovered that the faint had been caused by a potion specifically intended for that purpose. What it could all mean, taken together, they did not know.

Draco, indeed, had a lot to explain.

It was a good thing, then, that the potion wasn't intended to keep a person unconscious for a particularly long period of time. Shortly after Hermione completed her diagnosis, the blond-haired boy was coming to.

"Did you get it off?" Draco asked, looking frantic.

"Did we get what? There had to be…"

"The…" Draco hesitated, but only for an instant. "The tracking spell."

"Yeah, we got that." Harry replied, a tad more curtly than was his wont. "We got a lot of other things, too. And right about now, I'd like to know what this is about."

Draco visibly relaxed. "It's disabled? You're certain? Was I still unconscious?"

"Yes, yes, it's gone; I'm quite certain; you were quite dead to the world at the time; and _you're welcome, _Draco." Hermione replied.

Draco flushed, a rather obvious occurrence with his pale complexion. "Thank you. You don't know how much I owe you. But I swear I'll repay it. In fact… I, Draconus Lucius Alexia Marcellian Malfoy, swear that-"

Hermione promptly clamped a hand over his mouth. "I don't think you know what you're doing, there. A Wizards' Oath is a very serious thing to be swearing."

Removing her hand from his face, Draco sneered. "I am the heir of a long line of well-respected pure-blooded wizards. I most certainly do know what I'm doing, even if you don't, Mu - er… Muggleb-… Hermione." Draco's condescension had stumbled into awkwardness, and he suddenly refused to look either of them in the eye.

"Be that as it may, Draco, we don't even rightly know what's going on. You can hardly swear to repay us if we don't even know what you're repaying us _for_."

"And I, for one, would prefer the explanation over the oath." Harry added in.

"I - alright. I suppose I rather should… We should get away from the fireplace. He can't really trace the floo I used, but he might just get a good look at me, sitting here, if he starts looking through the fireplaces."

Harry sighed. "Alright, Malfoy, but when we get where we're going, you're going to give us the full and uninterrupted version of why, exactly, you told me not to tell anyone I was still alive, and then show up beaten and half-dead to our little meeting."

Draco looked Harry straight in the eye, and nodded, solemnly.

* * *

They didn't get back to Harry's room for a while, actually. Draco had felt a great deal better, even considering Hermione's meager skills at healing, and had been practically starving. The group had retreated to the inns' kitchen, polished off a decent amount of food, and then Harry'd needed to help with the chores and such. Unwilling to skive off work, even for the sake of their discussion, Harry had put it off until that night after dinner. Draco had assured him, however, that nothing he needed to tell them was really pressing, time-wise.

"At least not anymore." Draco'd added, half under his breath.

So it wasn't until almost nine at night that the three teens met up in Harry's room. Hermione, with little to do for the afternoon, had pestered Draco about his life story for a while, then, realizing it wasn't fair to Harry to hear things before him, dragged Draco with her to make cookies (the moment Draco'd said he'd never eaten, much less made, a chocolate chip cookie, Hermione'd decided that would be their project of the day, and wouldn't hear an argument against it). A full plate of chocolate chips was settled on the floor between them, and the room fell to silence, expectant stares falling on Draco.

Three minutes later, he was still silent. The tension could be cut with a knife.

"I don't really know where to start." He confessed.

"The beginning?" Harry asked.

"That would take entirely too long."

"How about you just tell us what it was that crossed your mind yesterday to bring this about, get around to telling us why Harry ought't let on that he's alive, and finish off with the series of events that brought you to being unconscious on the Library's rug." Hermione suggested.

"Leave it to Hermione to have an outline for someone else's explanation." Harry muttered, and all three laughed, lessening the tension.

"It's a good plan" Draco said. "So… what happened yesterday…"

He sighed, and then began. "When I saw you in the store, yesterday, I… I was honestly impressed and amazed that I was meeting the great boy-who-lived, died, and lived again. And… I knew you'd lived with Muggles, and I had some questions that I'd always wanted answered. And you… you could answer them for me, so that's why I asked what I did." Draco paused.

Harry nodded to show he remembered that part of the conversation.

"Right, well… the thing was, you didn't hate them - Muggles, you know? And you thought they were people, like anyone else. And after hearing everything they'd done to you, if you still didn't hate all Muggles, I didn't figure I had reason to - not really. But there's a problem with that, which is that my family has been against - really against - Muggles and Mudbl - Muggleborns, for generations."

"I don't see what that has to do with anything. So what if you didn't agree with their views?" Hermione declared righteously.

"You're not getting it." Draco said, somewhat angrily. "It's not like I could just disagree, and maybe we'd argue, but that would be it. My father - my father was a Death Eater."

Hermione breathed in so sharply she started coughing. When she could breathe again, she said "Well, that certainly does explain a few things. But I still don't understand exactly what this has to do with Harry or I."

Draco sighed. "I was getting to that. So, yesterday, I realized I had to do _something, _that I couldn't just keep on the way things had been. I didn't - and don't - want to be a Death Eater. But that's not exactly an easy thing to avoid, in a family like mine. There's only one way, really, that doesn't either result in or involve dying, and it's been practically guaranteed not to happen for the last several generations; it's only happened twice in a hundred years."

"And you need our help to do it." Hermione put in.

"And I need your help to do it." Draco answered.

"So?" Hermione questioned. "What is it? Is it legal?"

"Er… sort of." Malfoy ducked.

Hermione simply glared at him.

"It's not like you think. You see, the only way out is to… to… well, to… become a Ravenclaw."

Harry and Hermione both burst out laughing. "Because, you know, that's just the hardest thing imaginable to do." Harry got out between laughs. They fell silent, though, when Draco didn't laugh with them.

"It is for me. You see, there's a charm, and every father of every Malfoy _ever, _or at least, in the last four hundred years, has performed it; it doesn't exactly _guarantee_ that we get into Slytherin, it's more like… an amplification. It makes sure that the sorting hat -" here Draco paused, raising an eyebrow in question, to make certain both the others already knew that particular tidbit. They nodded. "-sees our Slytherin characteristics first and foremost. The only way you get a different house is if Slytherin is _absolutely _wrong for you, or if you can manage to break the spell. The thing is, no first year is really powerful enough to remove it on his own. But you -" he locked gazes with Harry "are not just any first year student. And now that you've broken my father's tracking charm, I'm absolutely certain you can manage it."

"So, that's all you want us to do? Remove a spell, a most likely illegal or at least underhanded spell, mind, that really shouldn't be there to begin with, prior to the sorting?" Hermione asked.

"Well, yes, that is… mostly… it." Draco said, rather more quietly.

"Mostly, Malfoy?" Harry asked, not feeling at all comforted that the blond wasn't telling them something.

"You see, even if we suppress the Slytherin side, it doesn't exactly guarantee that I'd get in to a certain house other than Slytherin."

"Yeah, so?" Harry asked.

"So… if I get into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, I wind up… well, dead - or at least disowned. And if I _do _get in to Slytherin, well, I'll be expected to follow in the family footsteps."

"Why exactly does it matter, though, if you're a Ravenclaw? Why would that keep them from forcing you to be a death eater? What would happen, exactly?" Hermione asked.

Draco paused a moment, obviously trying to find the best way to explain. "Like everything else in my family, the sorting includes certain traditions. The only way someone can be a primary heir to the Malfoy fortune is if they're, firstly, male, and, secondly, become a Slytherin. It's such that, on the first Christmas home after Sorting, they're sort of… officially signed in to their inheritance. Malfoys that come home "disgraced" - were sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff - are dealt with at that time. Malfoys that are sorted into Ravenclaw are signed into a nice bit of wealth, plans are often made at that time for their education beyond Hogwarts, whether University or a Mastery or both, but they are not granted the inheritance of a true Heir."

Hermione seemed confused. "So… how do the pureblooded families survive, then, if they've only one child and that child isn't allowed to be the heir -"

"No, no, you're not-" Draco sighed "I'm not explaining well enough. Firstly, this is something only we Malfoys do. None of the other families know the spell, or at least they don't use it. Secondly, Malfoys are the only ones that only have one child, and take potions to ensure a male. Most pureblood families prefer two or even three children."

"What does that matter?" Harry asked.

"Well, when you've more than one child, there's the chance of a contest for becoming heir to the family name. Malfoys only have additional offspring if the first child is found unsuitable."

"And the only way to be "unsuitable" without being _disgraceful _is to get sorted into Ravenclaw." Hermione finished for him.

"Exactly."

"But won't your family… I dunno, like you less, or something, for being a Ravenclaw?" Harry asked.

"No, actually. To be so exceptionally smart that you even surpass the potion is really considered an honor to the family, and such. In fact, if they could allow Malfoys to become Ravenclaws with the charm and still keep anyone from being sorted to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, my family would be perfectly happy to do so."

"I still don't get it." Harry said. "Why would two heirs be a bad thing, except if the first one's a Ravenclaw?"

"Wellll… you see, Ravenclaws, also known in our family as "Secondary Heirs", are the ones that get us the family fortune to begin with, because, well, developments run any society. But they usually don't care to spend their lives looking after the money - they'd much rather use it to fund research than investments. On the other hand, there's almost no chance of them _wanting _to be the heir at all, thus no power struggle between siblings. But the whole point of it is, they're respectable, but not power-hungry enough to be heir to the Malfoy family."

"So… what, exactly, do you get, if it isn't the family fortune? I mean, you don't exactly seem to be upset, yourself, with the whole idea of ending up poor." Hermione said.

"The Secondary heirs hardly "end up poor". If I didn't decide to lift a finger after school, the "little" bit of money I'd be given is enough to support a half dozen people, with expensive but reasonable taste to the end of a wizards' days. Almost three hundred years, if you didn't know; even the Mudb- Muggleborns usually live to two hundred. Not to mention that I'd be given the manor traditionally passed on between the Ravenclaws in the family, and a full staff that will be paid from the family account."

"And if you earn any money of your own?" Harry asked.

"It's entirely mine to do with as I please, though traditionally Secondary heirs donate at least a quarter of what they earn to the family accounts. Often, it's a great deal more, considering they tend to make far more than they can use."

"Traditionally meaning you have to." It sounded somewhat like a question, but Hermione wasn't really asking.

"Of course. Unless I don't do particularly well for myself, but that's unlikely." Draco said, rather haughtily.

"I see." Said Harry. He paused a moment, thinking that there wasn't really any reason not to help Draco out. However, he couldn't really find a reason _to _help out, either. And what they'd be doing _would_ be illegal. No, Harry needed more reason than "being nice" to someone he didn't really even know, who was as likely as not to ditch him the moment he had what he wanted. He didn't know why, but he sort of got the feeling that Draco might do exactly that, or that he, Harry, simply shouldn't help him, or… something. "So… what's in it for us?"

"Harry, we certainly don't need -" Hermone began, but Harry held up a hand, and she fell silent (though she didn't look a bit happy about it).

Draco looked startled for a moment, the unaccustomed expression making him look young and vulnerable. "I… I thought…" he cleared his throat.

Draco studied Harry for just a moment, cocking his head to the side, almost as though he hadn't really seen him before. "I don't know what I could offer you that you don't already have. Power, wealth, fame… these things are already very much yours, though if that is what you seek I will find a way to aid you. But I will offer you my hand in friendship." Determinedly, but with the slightest air of uncertainty, Draco extended his hand.

Harry had a flash, like the one in the floo, of Draco, dressed in Hogwarts robes, looking very superior and extending his hand; a flash of anger and something almost like hurt seemed to accompany it. It was over in an instant, however; all that was before him was Draco, looking more awkward by the moment. But there was still… something… holding him back.

He chose his words carefully, and spoke softly, but felt he had to say it. "And if I demanded that Wizards' Oath, after all?"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.

"I would swear it." Draco responded, without hesitation. "Or rather, I will swear it, whether you demand it or not. I would swear the Oath of Friendship right alongside it, if you wanted. I mean to be your friend, and not like the friends I usually keep. Not just for my own gain." He blushed again, but held his hand in place, reaching, and still waiting.

Shoving the odd sensation to the back of his mind, Harry took it. "Agreed."

The room went silent, and they shared in a moment of companionship.

Hermione broke in. "When do you need to be home?"

"I don't, actually. My father thinks I've hidden myself in this, er, a place I sometimes hide at when I'm upset with him. It's been passed down through generations of Malfoy children, and no-one Hogwarts age or older can get in unless invited by someone who is. It's… necessary, in our family." He stopped for a moment, looking contemplative. "I can leave, though, if you want. I haven't really got a place to stay, here, and I don't wish to impose any more than I already am."

"Wait. Not yet. We've gotten past the first bit, but we still don't know why we're not supposed to tell anyone that Harry's alive, and you still haven't told us why you ended up on the carpet, bruised and cursed, and needing us to heal you." Hermione proclaimed.

Draco looked to Harry.

"I've got questions, too, but it is getting late. You're welcome to stay." Harry said. "Besides, it's only fair I tell you my story, now that I know yours."


End file.
